Toy
by MateriaFlower1-1
Summary: I felt like a toy in his presence. He radiated such power, a feeling that created inside me such a fear, and something... Something else. He could stand in the corner of a room and never make a sound, but I'd know he was there... He would watch me, and with his eyes control me, not with clumsy words or violence. With him, I almost felt willing. I didn't mind. *SanSan prompt series*
1. 042 Scarred

**_Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire_**

 _This is my first foray into ASOIAF fanfic territory, and I'm a tiny bit nervous! Don't get me wrong - this is very far from my first fic (it's actually my 22nd... O.O I've spent too much time on this website) - but I've always wanted to write my own SanSan fic, and I finally got the balls to publish it! So here we go. As for the numbers in the titles of the chapters - these were prompts from a list I got. The other numbers are scattered around my other prompt fics, I just took the ones that fitted each pairing the best for different fics! I hope you're all here for the ride (there'll be around 8 prompts, one every Sunday evening), and enjoy!  
_

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 _042\. Scarred_

"You'll be glad of the hateful things I'll do when you're Queen, and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved King."

But she did not become Queen, nor did Joffery remain her beloved, or king, for long. The vile prince, born not of his father, but his uncle, was cruel and vicious, and as unlike the Knights of fairy tales as possible - just as The Hound had warned her. It was not long after the death of her father and disappearance of her sister that Joffrey turned cruel, no longer concerned with how anyone would view how he treated her. The North was busy fighting a war, too busy to help her escape, and there no longer remained any Northerners but her at court. She was an outcast, by birth and fortune, so unlike how she'd always been until that point in life. She ached for the presence of her sister, or the warm embrace of her mother, or the soft chides of Robb. Anything, to help ease the pain.

But none came, and she was left alone; a sole wolf in a den of lions. It wasn't for months that the truth of his words came back to haunt her. It wasn't her first beating, and it wasn't the most vicious, but it had stripped her more than she'd ever wanted to be, mentally and physically. He'd stepped in, with kind words, and saved her from any deeper shame.

"You'll be glad of the hateful things I'll do."

She was. Indisputably, undeniably, overwhelmingly glad for anything he would do to buffer her pain at the hands of the newly minted 'king'. The bastard boy her father had found, and who had later run off, would be a better king than him, blacksmith's apprentice or no.

She was no longer a Queen in waiting, no longer protected by her dire wolf, abandoned by family. She had acquired fresh scars along her back and arms from her beatings, and just waiting for her fate amongst the vicious lions.

"Little bird." The voice was gruff, utterly cruel, but the kindest thing she'd come to know in all the land below the Neck.

She stirred, looking behind her from where she stood at the window, alone in her small room, the only solitude she possessed in the world. Even King's Landing and the sea beyond, it looked flat and plain when she thought of home and the glistening snows of her childhood.

"Yes, S- Clegane?" She still stammered over what to call him; he was the most like a knight she'd known in King's landing, loyal and honourable to her, no matter how gruff he was with his words.

"The King wants you." He almost spat the word king out, a treasonous poison rolling from the mockery of a title.

She steeled herself, preparing for anything - the whims of a teenaged king could be wild, and treacherous. Even with the arrival of his Grandfather, his moods dimmed very little.

She followed him, her face blooming a bruise almost as red as the burns running down the side of his face in a destructive river. She didn't know how much more of this daily torture her body could handle. Soon, she would be scarred beyond recognition, and beyond marriage-quality. Then she would be left alone in this world, cooped up like the little bird he said she was, just waiting to die as a shell of herself.

He did not beat this time, or command another to do his dirty work. The vile boy king simply introduced his betrothed, a beautiful girl who was everything she was not - innocent, happy, unscarred and protected by a buffer of roses - and commanded her to be married, for certain this time. And this time, to the very Hound who'd protected her from the very worst, over and over again. From the stiff clench of his jaw, she gathered the Hound already knew, and she had to employ the practice of years to school her face into terror and despair when, in her heart, it spawned with relief. She'd feared he would say the Imp, or even that beast known as the Mountain. The Hound was no punishment, but a welcome relief after the cruelty of all others in this bloody castle.

And that is how she came to stand in the grand, golden Sept of Baelor, a yellow cloak about her shoulders and some shard of hope slowly settling into her heart.

Marriage may not have been everything that she'd hoped for as a naive child; all flowers and caring Knights and beautiful children, but he afforded her protection from the cruel king who'd once been her beloved, if not company in the cold, long, lonely nights. He even voiced his treasonous thoughts to her, ones that he knew without even asking that she shared. And not long after their union, a battle came in the black of night. The Queen Mother had seen fit to not invite her, as she surely would've been 'too busy praying for her husband's safe return'. Of course she did, but she mainly looked out of the bleak window and hissed lowly in fear as green fire erupted over the sea. So entranced was she that, when heavy footsteps approached her door, she didn't notice - only the following voice.

"Little Bird," he called, tongue slurring in his mouth and breath vastly short. "Little bird, let's leave. I've had enough of this king, and by now I am the only thing left between him, and you."

She didn't even answer, but nodded, her fingers anxiously fingering the new scar she'd recently acquired on her arm. Even with his name as a form of protection, whenever he was sent away, the nightmare of old would return anew, until she could grovel her way to safety, or he would stumble across her beatings.

"Gather anything you need; quickly."

Without a word more between them, they gathered what they needed, she donned the King's Guard robe he'd once given her, still with his scent embedded in it, and they left, creeping through the castle in the inky night, and leaving the foul city of King's Landing behind not so long after.

With all the nightmares so long ago, all they had to remind them of their strife were the scars they both wore; her around her heart and all over her back, him on his face. Even if their marriage had petered out into flowers, and a new knighthood, and four beautiful children, a small part of them, against their will, would always remain in the scarred heart of King's Landing, and the place where he would stand in defiance of a King for her.

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 _I know it's completely AU, but it's a version of events I've always wondered about. I really hope you enjoyed it! Please follow for updates and review if you've got time. Thanks!_


	2. 035 Heat

_**Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire**_

 _Thank you to magnus374 for your review! It made my day ^_^  
_

 _I'm glad that so many of you enjoyed my last chapter! So I'd like to present the next. Enjoy!_

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 _035\. Heat_

He had never been one for heat, or fire, or warmth - not since he'd had his face pushed against the flames for his childhood room. Only his sister could bring a little warmth to his insides in the immediate aftermath, with her bright smile. But then he killed her too, and the warmth left Sandor's gut. With Lenore's death, he'd lost the capacity to feel or stand heat. For a long time, at least.

I thought that he was cruel, with a vile mouth and a terrifying countenance at first. He spoke down to me, taught me harsh lessons I should never have learnt at that age. But he saved me, and with a delicacy, he dabbed at the blood welling from my broken lip. He was trying to help me, even in such a twisted way. Perhaps then, he maybe began to feel some warmth return to his body.

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In the hot deserts of Dorne, heat seeping through my summer silks and warming my body, he told me of the warmth inside him.

"Gods, Little Bird, I never would've thought that I'd feel this heat inside me." His cool grey eyes, teeming with simmering emotions, pinned me to where I stood. Not two days past had he and I made Union true under the nearest Sept, and in those two days I had never felt such passion.

"I thought you'd said all heat from you had gone, many years ago."

"So did I think so. But then you had to go and ruin it."

I could only laugh in response. There was nothing to say to him, nothing to add. We both knew how he felt, what had happened - he didn't need to explain it. It was the first time in my life that I felt so comfortable with someone who wasn't my family.

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Upon reaching Kings Landing, there was Jon, waiting for me with a nervous smile.

"Sansa."

"Jon."

I knew not what to say - what could I say? I'd behaved shamefully, shunned him and looked down on him when I should've treasured him as the family I had desperately wanted to see for years. I hugged him tightly, his body warming me more than the peach summer silks did on my body. Even after the snow was melted in Kings Landing, the spring temperatures were cold - temperate at best.

"I have missed you so very much, sister." He declared, holding my shoulders tightly as a few scandalous tears escaped my eyes.

"As have I, brother - or cousin, it seems." I drew my eye to the crown sitting in his black curls.

"Cousin I may be, but you will always remain my sister in my heart."

"Even..." Trepidation filled my heart, "even after the way I treated you?" I couldn't bear to look in his grey eyes; eyes I'd never noted to be so dark yet so lucid before.

"I cannot deny I was hurt. But I might be able to understand. I forgive you; you are my family - and family is scarce these days."

More tears escaped my eyes, and I clung tightly about his neck once more.

Family, some one who I had truly known as my own flesh and blood, was standing before me. For the first time in eight years, I could see someone who I had been dreaming of. A soothing heat flooded my body.

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That night, as we sat down to sup in a his solar - just the two of us, trying to unravel our pasts together - he finally broached the subject that I was wondering if he'd ever even heard of.

"Your sworn shield is Sandor Clegane, correct?" He asked, and I knew that he didn't want to merely hear a simple answer.

"Yes, he is. He was kind to me when there were no friendly faces in this castle. He protected me by showing me how to lie, and see the reality before me, not insist on my naïve fairytales."

"And you... You love him?" He asked, with a sense of trepidation.

"Yes. We, unofficially, married recently. I wanted to get your blessing for a real marriage, if you can grant one."

He looked at me with widened eyes and high coal eyebrows.

Silence pervaded the room for a tense moment. "So you truly do love him?"

"Of course" I frowned. "For the past eight years, he has been the only man who would look at me with any sense of sympathy, or kindness, or empathy. He helped me to survive. Why would I not love the man who saved me?" I looked intently at Jon's face, searching for the disapproval I was certain would follow.

But not such thing occurred. Jon shooked his head, longer black hair about his shoulders now. He smiled. "He does love you." At my quizzical look, he added, "I asked him about this earlier." He looked like a cheeky youth when he said this. "Clegane said that he loved you more than whores love money, and the others love ice. For him, I take it, that's a great deal."

I smiled, restraining the urge to laugh loudly, and nodded. "Yes, yes it is."

He stayed silent for a minute more, and I finished the food on my plate - almost as welcome and missed as the company I was in.

"The consent will have to come from Danaerys, as long as she..." He needn't finish his sentence, it was common knowledge that the Mother of Dragons had been afflicted with disease, and was on the cusp of death. "But I am sure she will grant it. I am her nephew, her last living relative. She has a spot of favour for me."

He smiled, and he looked much younger than he had when we first reunited. I was glad of the heat that family gave my soul.

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 _I know, it's kind of AU-ish. In my own little head-canon, I always thought that Danaerys would take Kings Landing, with Jon at her side, but die soon after - it would be fitting of Mr Martin after all. It's not particularly romantic either, but sometimes I feel like you've just got to focus on your family._

 _Anyway, please follow for updates and review if you've got time. Thanks, and I'll see you all next week!_


	3. 002 Caught

**_Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF_**

 ** _Thank you to my reviewers magnus374 and IllusoryCalm! I absolutely loved reading your reviews, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story!_**

 _I'm super sorry this is so late guys, exams suck. :'( But I've got a double feature for you this week! I hope you enjoy it!  
_

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 _002\. Caught_

I felt as though I were falling for so long. So long that I almost felt my heart pass through my mouth more times than I can count, and the bile rose from my throat numerous times. I fell through my mother's fingers when I left for King's Landing. I fell through my Father's fingers when I sentenced him to death without knowing it. I fell through safety's fingers when I rejected the Hound's - no, Sandor's - offer to leave with him. I fell through chance's fingers when I left with Little Finger.

And so I fell, constantly being pushed and pulled here and there on my downward descent. By Cersei, by Joffery, by Tyrion and by Little Finger. Always ready to laugh at me, watch my misfortune as the only luck if ever had turned to dust.

But then I was saved, caught by the ever merciful face of the fate of war, and I landed in the soft snow of Winterfell. Of my burnt and crushed and hollowed home. I walked through the wall into the grounds of Winterfell, on the first day of peace, and looked up at the broken husk of my home, the remnants of my tattered life. It wasn't much, but it would do. It would take much building, but it would be home yet.

The Dragon Queen, ever merciful, ever kind to the once disaffected sister of her cousin, left me in some semblance of peace, lest she give herself a bad reputation in this bitter winter, and the war started up once more - against her. She let me rebuild my Winterfell, and named me master of it, and all that came with it. I can only imagine how she would be towards Arya, the kind, caring sister to Jon. I regretted that past terribly. I wished that none of my cruelty towards him had occurred, and we would be warm siblings.

But as it was, I was alone. No Bran to climb the walls. No Rikon to run around after him. No Arya to try and partake in the Men's training. No Robb to look up to. No Jon to look down on. I was alone, and I was falling once more.

As the castle stood, almost finished in the thawing Winter, the Hound once more stumbled into my life. With a deep injury and a high fever to match, he stumbled to the newly crafted shell of Winterfell, and collapsed on the threshold. He muttered my name, so they say, as well as a far more crass name for Arya. I nursed him with all the power I had. But mother was not here to guide me, and Septa Mordane was not here to give me advice. And the fluttery, butterfly-like girls from High Garden were not here to titter about this strange feeling stirred deep within my chest. Little Finger had once sworn to me that he had no heart, and he splayed his twitching fingers over me. I was inclined to believe him. I felt my stomach plunge, and I fell further into oblivion.

He awoke after three weeks, with a groan apparently, when I was working for the sake of Winterfell and the North. I knew I had to keep it in good shape, lest one of my brothers appear. He asked for wine to wet his rusty, brittle throat and asked for me in his very next breath.

I almost felt as though I had stopped in my fall, levitating in the air, frozen until the future became clear. He would not tell me if he was going to stay, despite my frequent inquiries. He would not tell me of the South. He would not tell my of my long lost sister, of Arya.

And yet, one night many moons later, he came to me. Not in a dream, as I was first certain, but in life. I felt as though I did that night in the Battle of Blackwater, and the stench of blood and fire and smog and death and wine and sweat stung my nostrils, and burnt the back of my throat. But I was a woman of nineteen, a ripe age to be a wife. I could stand up for myself, now.

He didn't want a song, though, he didn't want to hold me at the tip of his sword. He wanted me to love him, in the ways of the mind, and the flesh. I could feel him catching me, and peace returned to my somewhat beleaguered mind.

And when he kissed me and touched me in the corridor at dusk one day, as the new septa walked passed, we were caught. I felt caught.

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 _It's super fluffy, but sometimes we just need that. Please follow for more, and review if you've got time. Thanks!  
_


	4. 019 Toy

**_Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF_**

 _To complete this week's double feature, the titular chapter. Enjoy!  
_

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 _019\. Toy_

I felt like a toy in his presence. He radiated such power, a feeling that created inside me such a fear, and something... Something else. He could stand in the corner of a room and never make a sound, but I'd know he was there. I'd feel his steel gaze keenly in the back of my skull, pinning me in place. I felt like I was being controlled, like a puppet - I was always being pulled and pushed around by the others, but he was more skilled. He would watch me, and with his eyes control me, not with clumsy words or violence. With him, I almost felt willing. I didn't mind being his toy, I think.

He kept me so divided in opinion, I never could really form a true and unclouded judgment on him, not until it was too late. He was so polarising in the way he made me feel... I never quite understood it. It was never _love_... Not in the way mother had said, but he didn't make me scared either, not after I got to know him. I was in the courtyard, walking with the other ladies - some women from High Garden, I think. We weren't causing any harm, rather we were peacefully walking, not disturbing the birds nor the flowers. He appeared, in one of the corridors and in the darkness if the shade, paused there. I caught a glimpse of him and his eyes, and from then I felt his eyes on the back of my head, like an uncomfortable pin in my hair. I almost tripped into one of the ladies and forgot to pay attention to the other as we walked, and when she came to ask me my opinion on the story, I tried to stutter some stock response back, but I couldn't. I made hasty and transparent excuses, and left, feeling his eyes on me, in my very soul, all the while. The two ladies never sought me out again. Not many from High Garden ever did after that.

But then whenever I was with King Joffrey, as I still had to refer to him, he was almost always there with me, the piercing eyes a sudden comfort. He guided me through the conversations, I felt. He put me under the pressure I needed but never was too harsh then, and I felt like I was performing an intricate dance. It was an intricate dance, and I was merely a puppet. His eyes never made me stumble then - they guided me and made me more attentive than ever. I never minded being his puppet then, and when I'd been released from the stuffy, clammy and everything else awful chamber, he'd usually be following behind me, waiting until we were far enough away to walk beside me, with peaceful silence, or stifling conversation. I felt at a loss without him. I didn't mind being his puppet really - I don't think I did anyway.

As all things go in this gods forsaken world now, after my father was... Betrayed, he was gone. In the midsts of smoke, and green fire, and sweat, and anger, and fear and terror and drink and blood he came to me - to my room to be more precise - and collapsed, covered in sweat and grime and blood and tinged with fire, more than usual. He spoke to me, with a rougher voice than usual, and spoke to me the question ice always debated:

"Come with me."

And I, being a fool and the bird too long caged and afraid of the fresh air answered with a 'no'. A no that I've always regretted. I watched him leave my room with a regretful feeling crawling at the pit of my stomach, and I've lived with it ever since.

Because now, no matter what happens, I'll never have that puppetry behind me. Even if it was sometimes for the worse, I'll never have the guiding eyes to help me through my trouble. I don't have that respect from anyone in King's Landing, and I can't expect it from anywhere else. I miss him, and I miss feeling like his toy.

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 _Like the sour to sweet, this one is kinda depressing. I'm sorry. I just really like writing dark stuff... Please follow for more and review if you've got time. Thanks!_


	5. 048 Sympathy

**_Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF_**

 _It's been so long! I'm sorry guys :( Exams and a lot of life have put me out of it for some time. But I'm back once again!_

 _Once again, thanks to magnus374 for your review! I'm glad you liked it ^_^_

 _Enjoy!_

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 _048\. Sympathy_

He said that one day, I will have sons, and they will be killers. The thought made me choke on the air in my throat and I refused to acknowledge it. I didn't want to acknowledge it - it's too horrible a thought. To have given birth to and to raise a child who will one day become a man and kill another. But I don't know why I was so surprised, in hindsight, even the knights in fairy tales kill others for their fair maidens. Even the flower knight Ser Loras killed people, although he lost his rosy glow just as quickly as Joffrey lost his. All those at King'a Landing worry me. They were innocent children, once. They beat me and tortured me with words and what's worse - they were killers; all of them were killers. Even the beautiful Queen Cersei, and the more beautiful Queen Margery, who replaced her for a time before the Dragon Queen, were killers. They could've killed me with a flick of their wrist, and they killed many more that same way. Littlefinger said something similar to me too, at one point. I was dead to him by then, but it stirred nostalgia and the same horror within me. I vomited later that day, but only the bile from the pit of my stomach came up. The thought of it still terrifies me.

I try not to think of it, but I am surrounded by killers. Blood stains them all, I can almost see it as they walk in the moonlight, armour gleaming as though it's dripping with blood. All the men in Winterfell must have killed before. I have seen my own husband kill before - he is one of the most celebrated killers in the land. Or feared, perhaps, rather than celebrated. He was at least - but he has not been The Hound for some time, just Sandor Clegane, sword master at Winterfell. He was still a killer. My father was a killer too, and Jon, and my brothers Robb and Rickon. Even Arya is a killer. Bran is the only man I know who has not killed before, on account of his crippled legs. I do not sleep well at night when I think like that - when I think so hard and morbidly that I think I am sleeping next to a killer. A child murderer.

The only solitude I have when I think like that is my daughters - provided they have nothing of Arya's disposition - will be gentle. They'll be little doves, as he calls me little bird, and they'll be safe from the world of butchery. They won't have to watch grown men weep before their deaths at the hands of another. They'll sit inside, with pretty faces sewing pretty embroidery. They'll marry wealthy lords who are as kind to them as Sandor is to me. They won't be killers. They'll be gentle little doves, free to fly high above the muddy ground of our world.

But they'll have grandchildren, and they too might be killers. They might be as vicious as Lord Tywin Lannister, or as brutal as The Mountain that Rides.

Sandor offers me sympathy. He puts his arms around me and promises that no matter what, I'll be safe with him. He comforts me with words of peace and vows that our sons will be honourable, and our daughters will be little doves - just like I once was. His sympathy makes me feel better and pushes it out of my mind. I feel free, with a heavy weight off my shoulder and the haunting nightmares of Kings Landing and Cersei pushed out of my mind. Until the next time they ride into battle, and the thoughts are forced into my mind. Again.

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 _Because morbidity is fun. Okay, that's a lie. But anyway, I hope you liked it! Please follow for more and review if you've got time! Thanks!_


	6. 014 La Belle et La Bête

_**Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF**_

 _Double feature today! I know how to treat you guys :p And I feel really guilty for not updating for so long D:  
_

 _This is perhaps my favourite one that I've written so far - I really hope you guys like it. Enjoy!_

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 _14\. La Belle et la Bête_

'And so the prince and princess lived in unity, happily ever after.'

As all books ended, it was entirely happy for the beloved pair of lovers, in their pastoral world of spring roses and autumnal quantities of food all year round. It made Sansa want to live in these worlds, entirely removed from the harsh snows of Winterfell, or this long journey to the South.

Her father, the Lord of Winterfell, newly appointed Hand of the King, or to her Mother, 'Ned', had stepped too far into Lannister territory, over money or food or textiles or secrets untold, Sansa didn't know, so now his retribution was to marry his fifteen-going-on-sixteen-year-old daughter off to the Kennel Master House's youngest son, the man they called 'The Hound' or, to others, merely a beast of a man.

The news had at first, made her curse the days she was born, scream out for her mother, scream out for her father, and sob deeply into her pillows. She adored the idea of marriage, it was merely to whom that she detested.

Slowly, over time, that horror had been replaced with fear as stories were spun of how cruel he was, how he would torture children or puppies, and kill any whom the King would ask. And with his failing health, the Hound, they said, would repeatedly listen to the Prince over the Baratheon King. She didn't even know his true name.

The journey to King's Landing after finishing her fourth and final book was dull, with little chatter and the mood more similar to a funeral march than a grand procession for the Hand's daughter.

Upon meeting the Hound, she could see where the stories stemmed from. His lips were burnt, twisted and ruined; the skin near the hairline on the right side of his face was pink and hard with burns, streaming from next to his eye almost to his jaw, charring away the skin until white bone shone through in patches. He may have been handsome had the coals not got to him, she thought, with shiny grey eyes, a serious face that had some odd sense of kindness in it, height that any man would envy, and a big, strong body that made her feel safer, just by a little.

And yet, despite how some string of her heart plucked like that of a gentle harp's, he was just as beastly as they said when it came to him as a person. He was anything but the princely ideals, with his cruel snark and bitter words. He was almost entirely opposite to the knight's code, with his foul mouth and filthy, crude language. In not too many words, he was awful - to almost everyone.

She dreaded the day that she would be given over to this beast, this many she'd barely even met at all.

And yet, despite what she may want, that day did come, with an obnoxiously bright sun and cruelly clear sky.

In her mind, she'd always imagined this day to be different. She'd be in Winterfell, surrounded by her family. Her mother would rouse her early, and she, with Robb's wife and a reluctant Arya, would dress her in beautiful white silks, and tie her hair in simple yet intricate knots of pure ruby. When she walked into the intimate Godswood, he, the knight or prince of her dreams, would be waiting with fair hair, unblemished skin, and lucid eyes full of love for her. And as she was cloaked in her Stark Direwolf for the final time, gentle snowflakes would fall all around them, as though the Gods themselves were blessing their marriage.

As it was, the day was as warm as a spring day, despite the red leaves. And these red leaves, as suitable as they may be for a Godswood, were not bloody hands, and did not form a holy place, but lined the way to the humble Sept where she'd marry, having been denied the grand Sept of Baelor. Her mother was not there to help dress her, and Robb did not yet have a wife - that Sansa knew. Instead, faceless maids with generic floral names dressed her in grey silks, for the colours of her dear house. The Direwolf on the Cape she wore looked little like the ferocious Direwolf that she'd dreamt Lady would've become. Only her father would accompany her into the Sept looking like a shadow of himself; her hair a rough comparison to a ruby and knotted in the ostentatious ways of the South.

Most devastatingly, there was no prince with love in his eyes waiting for her. Just a man, with a fierce facade and monstrous inside, waited for her, with nothing at all in his grey eyes. She almost thought he was angry with her when he placed the yellow Cape of House Clegane, adorned with three fierce dogs, around her neck. She almost quivered when he only place a rough, short kiss on the corner of her lips, instead of the romantic daydream she'd held onto so dearly until she entered this Sept.

Nothing could be done now. He was her husband, under the eyes of the Seven Gods.

Sansa had thought the worst was behind her, trapped in the remote castle that was the Hound's, her husband Sandor Clegane's, rooms in the rafters of a remote tower in the Red Keep. She was so far from her poor father, and even further from the snows and Wolves and joy of the North. And then, the King had died. And the Prince, Joffery, whom she'd once admired as a future husband, had taken over with strong puppet strings from his Lannister mother. From then on, nothing was safe for her.

There lay rumours that the King in the North was dead, that the Tully mother was dead, that the wildest, youngest son was away with the cannibals, that the bastard was no bastard at all, that the wisest son was a frozen cripple, and that the youngest daughter was a maddened, runaway wolf, off across the narrow sea. Sansa was the only Stark left, so they whispered, but the Prince treated her with no respect for that.

As for Sandor, their marriage was not exactly the fairytale that her parents had shown her. On their first night in the same bed, she had sat against the headboard, nervous in her seat and exposed in her shift. He'd laughed at her, a sound more akin to a beastly bark, and held a short knife to her throat. He told her to sing, sing as she'd once promised him - an occasion she remembered, and wanted to sing the song of Florin and Jonquil, yet the words for the Prayer of the Mother passed between her lips. No sooner had she finished did he plant a firm kiss on her lips, send a shock through her body, and left. The maids whispered that he'd left the Lady's bed and slept in another room, passed out from drunkness.

That is how it stayed between them, and nothing changed. Most nights, they would lay in the same bed, but a curse lay between them; a curse of silence on her, and something entirely more monstrous on him.

One day, that all changed. Most probably, for the better.

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 _I know, cliffhangers are mean, but I've always been of the belief that the best fairy tales to read aren't those that end happily, but those that unnerve you, just a little.  
_

 _Anyway, please follow for more and review if you've got time. Thanks!_


	7. 024 Undecided

**_Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF_**

 _Hello once again to my faithful readers! I'd like to first thank Magnus374 once again for your reviews of the past to chapters - I'm super thankful for your appreciations and comments every week ^_^  
_

 _It's only a short one this week - but I'm also crazy busy with university again :'( That being said, enjoy!_

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 _024\. Undecided_

As she stood there, for the thousandth time, watching that vile creature, the king, sentence another helpless merchant (or something like that) to death, she wondered what her life would've been like if she'd just gone with the Hound on that day.

She remembered it as though it had happened merely the night before. The bitter smell of wine and the overpowering stench of fear and death that clung to him like a leech had assaulted her nose as soon as he came close to her. She remembered the almost tangible smell of wine on his breath as he leant over her with a knife at her throat and whispered, in his gruff voice, his demand for the song she'd promised him.

Her lips had moved automatically as her fear took over her body. He'd asked her for 'Florian and Jonquil', and she'd started singing the song of the Mother. The soothing words she'd hoped would soothe him, and perhaps it worked - he'd left her not long afterwards. That was the last time she'd seen him in her life.

Often, she wondered if she'd been wise, saying 'no' to his offer. She wondered if she'd be happier than she was now; married to the imp, being harassed by the Queen Regent and Joffrey, pretending that she was just another one of the stupid little birds, twittering about the smallest things as though the world wasn't in a horrific way outside the walls of King's Landing.

Perhaps if she'd gone with him, she'd finally be happy. She would wonder that for the rest of her King's Landing days.

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 _Clearly, depressing is my forte. Please follow for more and review if you've got time. Thanks!_


	8. 059 Destiny

**_Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF_**

 _Okay, so clearly I have some explaining to do... I originally planned a set of 7 prompts. Then I filed the extra two I wrote at that time in a 'safe place' a.k.a, a place I forgot existed. Then, when I got busy and forgot to upload for a week or so, I just saw the number of chapters and totally forgot I meant to upload more! You guys have no idea how hard I've been face-palming! But I'd like to say a big, big thank you to **Veronika Daneov** for pointing this out to me! I'm going through and checking **all**_ _of my stories now in case I made this error elsewhere... Thank you!_

 _Anyway, please enjoy!_

* * *

 _059\. Destiny_

As the traders and merchants and salesmen flooded into Wintertown for the rare tourney taking place at the castle, a small tent was set up near the town proper, that caught Sansa's eye one day. 'Fortune Telling', the sign advertised, with a boasting, gloating red paint.

Finally, after much effort of pleading and pleading with mother - for father had agreed almost immediately - Sansa was allowed to go, under the strict instruction that she stay near her guard and Jeyne Poole at all times.

When at last, she pulled back the tan leather exterior of the small tent, a chilling, ominous feeling swept over Sansa's small body. With a quick glance to her friend, she urged Jeyne to go in first.

"Hello, little girl. Come for a fortune telling, have we?" A woman called out, her voice gravelly with the suggestion that there had once been a heavy accent thickening her speech.

Jeyne nodded, and she slunk into the red, puffy stool sitting opposite the woman, with only a low, wooden table to separate them.

The woman looked over the two girls with heavy, exotic, amethyst eyes. And she smirked, letting a clipped breath out her nose. "Royalty, are we? Well, I'll do it for just your blood."

She drew a dagger in her hand, holding her palm out for Jeyne's. "Don't worry, only a prick of the finger." Her voice was almost mocking, but it drew Sansa further into the dank, dark tent instead. Anything and everything seemed to be in this tent, scattered into haphazard towers that were just begging to fall. Sansa assumed she lived here, and alone.

Jeyne finally gave in to the temptation and held out a pale finger. With practised elegance and quicker than a blink of the eye, the woman pricked her finger and placed the blood in her mouth with a hum of approval.

"Well well, what do we have here?" Her voice was ominous, full of dark secrets of the future. "Three questions for you my dear, if you still want them."

Jeyne looked back at Sansa with trepidation, but her mind went to what took up most of their minds: heroic knights and dashing warriors. "Will I marry a brave warrior?"

"Oh aye, you'll marry a warrior, and he'll conquer a kingdom. Some might call him brave, even. You'll marry on a white bed of blood and with a claim to a name you never had before."

"And my children? What will they be like?" Jeyne leant forwards slightly, clearly liking what she was hearing.

"Three and two, and two and three. All will follow you to the earth, but none shall live on to carry your name into false gold. And when the fire seems to come at least, the snow shall rise up to drown you in blood."

Jeyne was leaning back, drawing into herself like a terrified little girl. The gripped Sansa's leg hard. Sansa looked between the top of Jeyne's head and the woman who was still smiling. "I..." Her throat sounded dry, and her hands were trembling. "So I shall die in the winter?"

The woman twisted her full, painted lips into a foul smirk. "In the winter, as winter is coming. But their blades are sharp, little one. And they will drown you away, bit by bit, until you are as your lord hero is - not you, but a fragment of a soul in the winter winds. And as the Raven flies, so shall you die."

Jeyne stood, with shaky legs, and wide, panicked eyes. "I'll wait outside." Her voice was thin like reeds, and she hobbled out of the leather tent, clearly shaken.

"And your hand, pretty princess?" The woman held out her hand, knife glimmering dully in the barely-there candlelight.

Sansa carefully offered a long finger into the woman's gnarled hands and fought the urge to bite her lips hard as the flesh was cut open. Again, the woman tasted the blood that oozed onto her rusting knife.

Her eyes widened, showing the violet irises in splendour, and her gaze briefly lost all focus. "Interesting. Very interesting." Her voice was vague, as she watched something far in the distance; a future only she could see. "I'm feeling generous. Five questions to tease out your future."

Sansa swallowed thickly, aware of how her shoulders ached with her rigid posture. "Will I marry the King's son?" The thought of uttering his name laid butterflies in the pit of her gut, and the taste of his name stewing on her tongue was sweet as honey.

"A king's son you shall have, and he shall be a king in his own right, the king of his discipline and notorious in name and history for his ferocity." The woman grinned in an unsettling way, a way that reminded Sansa of Arya's lies and Rickon's mischief.

"When shall I marry the king's son?" Sansa's voice glowed with excitement and pride - one day, she'd have a beautiful crown atop her head! And she would glisten in the glorious sunlight with her radiant husband, with a name that fell onto the pages of history.

The woman snorted. "Not for a long while yet, my dear. First, you shall have four men to overcome, and the harshest winter yet. Even the maiden may not be able to protect you from what lays ahead. But don't fear; one day you shall find the King, who lies beyond death, and reunite like little doves."

"And... Our children? What shall they be like? What shall they be named?"

"Named for a sister, a father, a brother, and a song. Even in number as in gender, shall be your children. And beautiful, with grey and blue eyes; brown and red hair." Sansa frowned, Joffery didn't have dark hair, did he? But then again - he didn't have the black hair of his Baratheon father; strange things do happen. "Sweet as May will be the girls, and strong as December the boys; each shall rule a castle, but none shall wear the crown of a kingdom."

"Will the pages of history remember me well?"

"Southron pages you may be on, and a Southron name you may be - but not for your wifely virtue. No, a cousin shall dominate over you all, and your husband shall mark you out as different. And your daughter will outshine all but the cousin in her prestige. The dead sister shall live on with a bright, emblazoned name. You, my dear, will be nothing but the consequences of your actions. You may have a famed name, but it will not be for the honour of your father."

She smirked as Sansa sat back, with a dizzied look in her eyes. "Final question now. Pick well."

"My family... My father, my mother, my sister, my brother. Will they live on? Will my family survive the Long Winter?"

A winter that eight shall see, and a winter four shall survive, with a new cousin blooming in the spring like a blue rose in the ice of the North. An honourable man shall fall first, and a cacophonous drum shall silence a lady and a husband. A girl becomes a woman and shall become no one. A little bird shall rot in her cage until a jackdaw brings her to the cusp of the moon. But if she escapes with a dead hound, they will marry under the very next Weirwood tree. A brother will find the final outpost of the earth, and a boy shall dine with flesh eaters. Eight Starks shall enter winter, and four shall exit.

"The family shall grow. Even shall be the sons, and even shall be the daughters. Wolves will spread like little birds in six and ten, running to the shores with dogs and reptiles and squid and blackened stags. But with fire, ice shall spread like wildfire, 20 and 4, in 8 and 4 4s, with the strength of all kingdoms. But, if hearts will close and sacrifices avoided, blue roses will die in ice walls, a face shall lose its body, magic shall pierce the heart of the warrior. And the wolves will shrivel and cower die."

Sansa cowered back from the blonde woman, feeling the palm of her hand ooze a small amount of blood on her fair skin, and a great deal more panic flood through it as the woman grasped her hand tighter. Sansa felt freezing despite the stifling tent.

"Is this what you wanted, my lady?" She mocked, seeing something in Sansa's face that she would have to wait years to see. It wasn't fair. And it scared her.

"No. Daddy said I'd marry the prince. He promised me Joffery- I wanted to be the Queen."

"A queen you shall be. Of love, and beauty, and men's hearts, and of land and people."

"But how can I be the Queen without a King?"

"There are more things to be queen of, than merely sitting in the south on the melting throne of swords. The final queen of House Baratheon shall fall into despair, and cry out with shame in the naked streets."

"And... That shan't be me?"

"Perhaps it shall be. Do you have any sins to confess?" The blonde woman grinned. "You shall be locked up like a little bird in a red, red cage, watched over and protected by Knights, and a Serr kissed by fire, like those beyond the wall claim you are."

"Kissed... By fire?" Her voice tremors with terror, and confusion, and fear of the very near future. "I don't want to marry someone with red hair. I want to marry the prince, and be queen, and have beautiful children."

The woman only laughed again, finding irony in her words as she saw the future. "Beautiful children you shall have, two kissed by fire and two with the airs of the noble hounds. They shall be their own princes, and the man you marry will one day, for a short time, will become a prince."

"Can't you just tell me who it is?"

"That would spoil all the fun. It is only my place to riddle, not to tell."

"And that is all you can say?"

"Yes. Now go, and cheer up your friend. The night may be dark, and full of terrors, but one day you at least shall prevail into a happiness."

Sansa grabbed the money from her bag and laid it on the table, taking a shaky exit from the tent where Jeyne sat on the floor, with tears rolling absently down her still face.

The future could never be as dark as that woman suggested. Sansa refused to believe it. And yet, Sansa never could rid the image of a Serr kissed by fire from her imagination.

* * *

 _Guys, I still can't believe I forgot to upload this for so long! Ugh, I'm face-palming ridiculously high._

 _So I've always been really intriguied in what other prophecies Maggy the Frogmight've given. Here are my own ideas! Obviously we don't know the ending yet, so these riddles are based on my own headcannon - let me know if you can work it out! Or even, what you think!_

 _Please follow for more and review if you've got time. Thanks!_


	9. 084 Unbelievable

**_Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF_**

 _So, this is the last of the remainder of the updates... Next time, I'll try to *actually* upload them all at once! (I'm still internally cringing about this mess up, even now...)_

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 _084\. Unbelievable_

When I left him there, dying near that inn, his wounds festering and oozing and choking blood like the ill spew vomit, I could not feel for him. I could not muster any anger or pity for the man who had, in his own twisted way, cared for me. I could not even find any sorrow in the cold shell of my heart. Too many betrayals, too many people leaving me for everything else - knighthoods, boys, the truth. It was sickening.

So I left him there, cursing at the blue sky and the warm sun, bleeding into a slow and painful death. I spat at the ground, to get the foul taste of indecision out of my mouth. Nothing haunted me as I left for the house Jaqen had talked of across the narrow sea; nothing but some of his final words - _I should've fucked her bloody before leaving her for that imp_. Those words would haunt me for a long time to come.

I heard nothing of my sister, my brothers, my home, for a long time. I had become No One; someone with many faces. But I was never wholly without Arya Stark. That girl remembers much; the faces of her family, the sword her dear Jon gave her, the blacksmith who betrayed her, and the ringing words of the Hound who saved her from death. With time and space, she had come to realise that it was anger she felt for those words. Anger that her sister would trust such a man or that he would take such an advantage of her, she didn't know. And there was a twinge of bitterness biting the back of her skull, that she didn't allow herself the pleasure of piercing his shrivelled heart.

No matter, she had made many others spurt with blood.

And yet, almost every night that she wasn't away in some animal or taking a face that wasn't Arya Stark, those words haunted her sleep. _I should've fucked her bloody before leaving her for that imp._ How cruel. It made her shiver despite herself for her sister's fate; the sister she'd always been a worse lady than. Even jealous of her, at times. For her beauty, and every graceful move that Arya did not possess in courtesies. Arya was entirely more graceful in battle and taking lives to the Many Faced God.

It took years of being so close to No One for Arya Stark to finally reclaim her body. News crossed the narrow sea of Winterfell - Bran, and the Queen with fire for hair; the Dragon Queen in the South, clinging to life, and the new-found winter cousin that joined her. Arya Stark became someone within an instant of hearing this, and she was dismissed from the Many Faced Men's service with a small smile from Jaquen, a scowl from the Waif, and a few parting gifts and crushing hugs from Isambaro. The narrow sea was entirely too wide for the newly reclaimed Stark.

Winterfell, when she arrived, was not as she remembered. There were burns everywhere. No father to welcome her nor mother to reprimand her. No Rickon to play with, nor Bran to climb walls with, nor Sansa and Jeyne to pick on, nor Robb to beg to play swords with, nor Jon to merely sit with. Winter had changed the face of Winterfell, and the resilient Starks were down, as of then, to three. Even Jon Snow, the brother she adored above all, was not there - he was down in the South, reclaiming his title as Targaryen and heir to the throne, as they spoke. Apparently the Dragon Queen was dying, having exerted all her efforts and energy fighting the Lannisters of the South. Some others muttered it was the latent effect of blood magic, used to drag her dead husband from the grave. Others said it was the maesters, killing her before she became entirely mad. Whatever it was, it meant that Jon, released from his Vows after having died and been resurrected, was left to claim the pointy, uncomfortable Iron Chair. And he was not here to hug her, play with her, comfort her pain at seeing _him_ there.

He, the man that to her was still entirely the Hound, no matter what Sansa said.

Saved from death or brought back with unholy magics she did not care. All Arya Stark cared about was that he was there, with the sister he'd said such foul words about, and _married_ to her.

"Arya, won't you let me explain it to you?" Sansa sighed to her one day. Not even the stupid bull, who'd returned to Winterfell at the fall of Winter claiming he was there 'solely to smith', could bring her out of her mood.

"Try it." Arya Stark relented, and settled into her chair before the warm fires in her room, freshly rebuilt, up in the towers of Winterfell.

Sansa took a deep breath, and said a nervous "Well," She continued to look at Sansa with an unrelentingly blank face. "As you know, Joffery wasn't kind to me like I'd thought he would be. He had me beaten in front of the court, threatened to have others rape me, made me stare into our father's dead eyes... He was cruel. And the only one who would stand between us was Sandor."

" _The Hound_."

"The Hound is dead Arya, I've seen it."

Arya Stark snorted but fell silent nonetheless. Arya Stark knew when to pick her fights.

"He would protect me from Joffery when he could, order him to stop in front of hundreds of other; he gave me his cloak when Joffery would strip me, and he tried to ease me pain whenever he could. He was fearsome... But the kindest man aside from our Starks I'd ever met. Certainly the kindest man in the South."

Arya Stark snorted again, but fell silent at her sister's sharp, grey eyes.

"But then the Battle of Blackwater happened - you heard of that, didn't you?"

I nodded, "I knew someone who died there. Then we heard about it from passing traders a while later."

Sansa nodded, and continued in her tale. "Sandor left King's Landing then, but crept to my room first."

Arya Stark raised her eyebrows, but Sansa merely waved a hand at her. "He demanded a song from me, and I sang not of Florin and Jonquil, but of the Mother's Mercy. He threatened to have me there and then, but offered to take me with him. And he kissed me. But I refused him, as foolish as I was, and he left me alone. Even then I could not see past the stories Old Nan told."

 _He left you, and threatened to use you. How cruel is this man?_

"Then he came and found me, didn't he?" I asked, without expecting and answer. I knew I was right.

"It appears so. Meanwhile, I was married to Tyrion Lannister soon after."

 _And he wanted to take you, before the Imp had a chance. Why do you talk of him so fondly?_ Her mind urged. I stayed quiet

"He was kind enough, but the event in the north... that foul wedding... had just taken place. He at least shielded me from some of Joffery's rage, but not as Sandor had."

 _Your head is too full of songs, Sansa_.

"Soon after, Joffery died at his own wedding. I was spirited away by Littefinger to the North."

 _Littlefinger? But he was in love with mother... Yet perhaps still better than the Hound._

"He was worse than any I've ever met - almost selling me to marry another, merely for his master plan. He asked me to play his daughter, but he was a far worse father than any I've ever heard. So I escaped, plotting with the Dornish for long enough to secure me my safety. I fled at night, alone, travelling to Dorne."

"Alone? So my sister has tasted the wild!" That famed wolffish grin reclaimed my face, much to my sister's chagrin.

"And I hated it - I only thought of my safety, and peace, and, to my shame, Sandor."

 _Kind he may have been, in his own harsh way. But he would still rape you, hurt you, make a mockery of you in a second. That is the wild nature of the Hound._

"It took far longer than expected, but I did eventually reach Dorne and the water gardens of the Martells."

"Wasn't Myrcella Baratheon there?"

"She still is. She is nothing like her mother - everything like her father."

"Who, Jamie or Robert?" Arya grinned. The look Sansa gave her told her all she needed to know.

"Prince Doran was very kind to me, but I was their captive nonetheless. It was our agreement, I would run to the Water Gardens for protection, and in return, I would reward them with gold as soon as I could reclaim the North. As it happened, Jon claimed the Seven Kingdoms with his Aunt before that could happen, all in Fire and Blood."

 _As the Hound would see you, in fire and mostly covered with blood._

"I only knew of this, however, when Sandor came to Dorne, to rescue me. Despite his apparent death, at the hands of another Stark no less,"

I shrugged, nonplussed by the heated look I received.

"He was saved by a maester, and revived as Sandor Clegane, the Hound entirely dead. Fed up with a pious life,"

 _Who didn't expect that?_ _With that foul of a mouth on him, it's a wonder he survived a week._

"he left with the Maester's blessing. And, hearing news of me in Dorne, set about trying to find me."

"So he crossed the country, looking for _you_."

"Yes. And he did find me in Dorne, alive and well. I was so glad to see him - much too glad. He told me the news of King's Landing and, with Doran's permission, we joined the retinue on the way to King's Landing. But we escaped their entourage briefly, to find the nearest sept. Wherein, we married."

"Just like that? And he agreed?"

Sansa smiled, the small smile that meant she knew something Arya Stark didn't. "It was his idea - he had to convince me. Apparently, he was worried that he had 'ruined me'."

"Ah. _That_ kind of reunion, then."

Sansa laughed prettily, with a light blush. But Arya could not get the violent words out of her head; _I should've fucked her bloody before leaving her for that imp._ So very different to the pleasent image Sansa painted.

"We rejoined the Dornish company as man and wife, and then officiated it before the eyes of the first Weirwood we found on our journey North. The same Weirwood Rheagar Targeryon and Lyanna Stark married before."

"Near Harrenhall? I visited that Weirwood, once."

"It is beautiful. And it shall always be in my memory, of course."

Arya Stark said nothing, and moved not.

"Are you satisfied that Sandor will not try to rape me, or harm me, or kill me now?" Sansa asked, the ghost of a smile on her face.

Arya Stark shrugged. Sansa seemed happy, in these first days of Spring. Perhaps, and I would never admit this outloud, the Hound may indeed be dead and burried.

She saw him later that day, alone, wandering the corridors back to his chambers at night. Arya Stak, for my part, was preparing to visit a Stag in the forges.

"Going somewhere, Wolf bitch?" His voice was dark and raspy, as she remembered.

"None of your business, Hound." I bit back, equally cagey.

"Off to visit your bastard?"

"Leave Gendry alone!"

"You might want to ask him about what it's like being a bastard." He prodded her, and Arya Stark was sure that he was insinuating more than she was comfortable with. That I would have a bastard of my own before long.

"Shut it!"

"Well, have fun, wolf bitch." He smiled, grotesquely, but all of the venom was gone. Now, he no longer seemed a monster in the half torchlight, but a man, burnt and scarred beyond repairs, with visible cracks that all held on the inside. He was not kind, not to anyone but Sansa, but he no longer seemed cruel.

"Good night... Clegane."

Even he seemed surprised by my shift in titles, if the slight pause in step was anything to go by.

As I left the castle that night, the words that had haunted me for years drifted off into the thin, cold air, forgotten like the name of a brief lover. _I should've fucked her bloody before leaving her for that imp_.

* * *

 _No, The mixing of pronouns/person wasn't a mistake. It was a stylistic thing that I wanted to try out, but do let me know if it's a terrible idea and I should just take it out!_

 _As I mentioned above, this is the last of this batch. I promise this time. Oh god. Anyway, please follow for more, review if you've got time and favourite if you want to see more in the future. Thanks!_


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